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The person inside doesn't notice me right away, not until I'm almost at the window. "Hey!" I call out just as he starts his engine and speeds away. My senses kick into overdrive as my feet pound the pavement and I make a mad dash back to my car. Making a quick U-turn, I hit the gas and speed down the street, keeping an eye on the dark car as it moves farther and farther away. At first, I wondered if her father had called the cops. But if the guy was supposed to be there, there wouldn't be a reason for him to take off.
Once we are out of Morgan's neighborhood, I follow him as closely as I can. He weaves in and out of traffic, nearly causing a few accidents when he cut off a couple of drivers while trying to lose my tail. Being in a high-speed chase with no kind of backup is new to me, but I can't lose this guy if I can help it. Dread mixes with the adrenaline pumping through my veins as we quickly approach one of the busiest intersections in the city.
"Don't run the light, don't run the light," I murmur out loud as I practically press the gas pedal to the floor. There are still two cars in front of me, even when merging into another lane. "No!"
The guy makes a sharp left turn and speeds away into the distance while I remain stuck behind the cars that now box me in. I slump down in my seat and shake my head. I'd thought I was the only threat to Morgan since I was contracted on her hit, but it's obvious that I'm not the only one after her. Time is no longer on my side, and if I don't figure this out quickly, all my efforts to save Morgan will be in vain when someone else kills her anyway.
10
MORGAN
It doesn't take me long to realize something is seriously wrong.
It's not unusual for my dad to yell and be angry when I'm late posting things, but this feels different. His anger appears more like a cover-up for something else. When the heat of our earlier argument simmered down, I noticed he seemed a little paranoid. I watch him as he moves from window to window and peek out as if he's waiting for someone or, worse—looking out for someone.
"What are you looking at?" I ask, raising a confused brow at him when he jumps. He waves a dismissive hand at me and returns to looking out of the windows and checking the locks for the millionth time.
"Nothing you need to be concerned about," he mumbles.
"But—"
A solid knock on the front door startles us both, the rest of my words dissolving into nothing the moment I see my father's skin turn pale. Neither of us moves for a moment, the knocking continuing.
"Who is that?" I ask cautiously. I can't remember a time I've ever seen my father scared, but I know it's something I neverwant to see again. He wipes his sweaty palms along his dress pants before turning his stern gaze to me.
"I need you to go upstairs to your room and lock the door. Don't come out unless I tell you to," he orders, his voice low.
"What? No!" I exclaim. "Who's outside, and what in the world is going on?!"
"Morgan, now isn't the time to be defiant," he hisses through gritted teeth. "Get upstairs now!"
"Tell me what is going on!"
The front door flies open, nearly falling off the hinges when a heavy booted foot kicks it down. Three mountainous masked men storm into our house, two of them grabbing my dad while the third one advances toward me. My brain screams for me to run, but I can only stand there with wide eyes as panic sets in.
"Get your hands off my daughter!" my father bellows, which earns him a solid punch in the gut that leaves him gasping for breath.
"Dad!" I scream.
"You shut the fuck up before you're next," the man restraining me growls in my ear. I nearly swallow my tongue in fear and force my legs to move as the men drag my father and me into the dining room. Tears burn my eyes as the man squeezing me hard roughly pushes me down into a chair. "Move and I'll break your neck."
The men quickly tie Dad and me to our chairs, the other two men wasting no time to immediately pummel Dad. The sickening thuds of each hit and kick my father receives make my chest tight with fear. Now I wish I had listened when he told me to go upstairs. I could've called Trent; I could've called for help. Now we're at the mercy of three men who have god knows what planned for us with no one who can save us.
One of them pauses long enough to narrow his cold gaze at me. "You're next."
A loud crack comes from behind me, and my father groans out in pain when he falls over to his side, still attached to the chair. Between the threat, my father's pained sounds, and the scent of his blood tickling my senses, I'm not sure what comes over me, but I can't do anything but scream at the top of my lungs.
"No, stop! You're hurting him!" I scream, jerking against the coarse ropes that bound my wrists and ankles. "Stop it!"
Pain radiates across my cheek as ringing fills my left ear for a moment. A rough, calloused hand painfully grips my face and forces me to look into dark, menacing eyes as he brings his mask-covered face closer to mine.
"I told you to shut the fuck up!" he growls and lifts his hand to strike me again. I scream when a gun goes off, blood splattering my face and clothes as the man standing before me slumps forward and falls into a heap at my feet. I can only stare in shock as I watch Trent move through the dining room with precision and skill, shooting one of the other men in the head before grabbing the other one. He doesn't say a single word to either of us, only dragging the man out of the room toward the basement.
The scent of blood permeates the room as two men bleed out on the floor. I sniffle and look over at my father, who's still lying on his side and bound to his chair.
"Dad? Are you okay?" I ask, my voice wobbly. His breathing comes out ragged, almost as if it hurts him to take a deep enough breath. "Dad?"
"I'm fine, Morgan," he says, his voice tight. But I know he's only lying to try to keep me calm. I pull against the ropes, the rough material only scratching my skin the more I fight against it. So many conflicting emotions crash through me. How did Trent know we were in trouble? How'd he get here so quickly? I think back to his blank expression when he killed those men.It's almost as if he's done this before, a routine task that he's done over and over again instead of murdering two men in cold blood. It only makes me realize that I don't know him as well as I thought and that he has a lot of explaining to do.
